Hannah shoved the self-serving thought from her mind. Napping was not a luxury afforded to the guardian of three children and the mistress of a large house. She supposed she could have enlisted the girls’ help, but she remembered so fondly her own idyllic childhood that she wanted to replicate that for the children as closely as possible. Of course, without servants and two parents and money, it was going to be a challenge, but the least she could do was allow them time to play out of doors while they were on a break from school. They had been assigned enough chores. Hannah would do the rest. Even if it killed her. Or ate off her hands, whichever came first.
She started to laugh. None of her friends would recognize her if they saw her right now. She didn’t think anyone of her acquaintance would have any more clue than she did how to wash the laundry. She, of course, had asked the housekeeper before she left Boston. But she hadn’t been thorough enough in her questions, it would seem. She had been told to add the soap but hadn’t asked for a measurement. Hannah blew her hair off her forehead for the millionth time and squeezed out a garment, satisfied to finally see the water running clear rather than bubbling with soap. The task was nearing its end. She made a mental note that laundry would have to be done more frequently as she gazed with a degree of horror at the pile she still needed to deal with.
Allowing her mind to wander to the letter she had received from Ransom when she had gone to the village to shop afforded her a few moments of distraction as her hands continued in their task.
Thank you for looking after our home. Hannah wondered, when she had read that, if he were being sarcastic or not. She hadn’t really gotten to know him well enough to know what kind of sense of humor the man had. Or if he had one at all, really. Perhaps he was just being polite. She really liked that he kept insisting that his house and lands were theirs, not his. It helped her feel slightly more married than she felt after having only met him for one day. It also made her more comfortable with rearranging things, or even touching things in the house. She left the majority of the outdoors things to Scott.
Now there was an interesting man. He barely uttered a word. He would nod, maybe even grunt, if she ever spoke to him. Of course, if she asked a direct question, he would be forced to answer her, but he always managed to do so with the least amount of words. It was a fascinating skill.
She, on the other hand, ended up with far too many words whenever she spoke with him. Hannah supposed it was nervous energy on her part that made the words flow like a waterfall from her mouth at awkward moments. She couldn’t even pinpoint why the man made her so nervous. She supposed it was Ransom’s last words about her safety. And Scott was a large man who would barely speak. Likewise, she was turning into a hermit. Hannah hadn’t spoken to anyone except the children since she had arrived.
But Ransom had left Scott here to care for things, so Hannah was trying to trust the man. And he was doing wonders with Brent. Somehow the belligerent boy had taken to the quiet mountain of a man. And she presumed that the man spoke to her brother when she wasn’t around. Or they had some mysterious male form of communication. Whatever the case, Brent was settling in to life on the frontier maybe better than any of them. Too well if she thought about it too much, but she would worry about that at a later date. She needed to live with the boy for several years. They couldn’t be at war the entire time.
Hannah glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. They had been here for two weeks. School started in a little over one week. She needed to make sure the children had all the clothing and supplies they might need for the start of school. Who could she to ask about what the children would need? Sighing again, Hannah lamented her shoddy education. She could host a large dinner party or plan a fundraising gala, but she didn’t know how to raise three children on the frontier. If she asked at the mercantile, she suspected they would tell her far more than she needed. Perhaps it was time for her to meet her neighbors.
She was actually rather surprised she hadn’t been visited yet. Did no one know she was there? Or was it just not a warm community? She had rather thought that people in such isolated places as this would be more involved in each other’s lives than they were in the city. But perhaps Ransom had made a habit of disappearing, and the neighbors weren’t used to trying to be close to him.
She thought again of his letter and sighed. He had seemed to be genuinely concerned with how she was making out with the children. But obviously not concerned enough to be here to help her. And he had said his work wasn’t progressing as quickly as he had hoped. What did that mean? He’ll be another week? A month? Several? Would he ever return? What if something happened to him out in Oregon? Would she ever even know? Had he told anyone about her and how to reach her if something did happen?
Hannah realized she was scrubbing too hard in her frustration. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, wiping her forehead and shoving her loose hair off her face once more. There was no need to get herself all worked up. He had obviously thought about the possibility of something happening to him. That was why he had left that pile of paper on his desk. He wanted to make sure she and Francine would be taken care of if he didn’t come home. She would be fine. They would be fine. She had barely even met the man, so it wasn’t as though she would miss him if he didn’t return. But that wasn’t quite the case. Being in his home, she felt as though he had a presence here. There were things she could learn about him from being here. He had designed and built this house. It was a strong, sturdy, spacious house. He hadn’t built a shack. That told her he didn’t do things in half measures and he was a hard worker. He saw things to completion. So, whatever he had to take care of in Oregon, he wanted to see to completion. Could she really fault him for that? She actually appreciated that quality. She would prefer to be on the receiving end rather than being left behind, but such was life. She hadn’t been on the receiving end of a good roll of the dice recently.
Really, Hannah assured herself, she oughtn’t be angry at the man. She hadn’t been led astray. Or if she was, it was her own assumptions. In fact, she knew he was going to be away. On the train ride here she had even been relieved he wouldn’t be around to witness her learning mistakes. She was just disgruntled because she was lonely for adult companionship. She really ought to get herself out and make some friends. If she could only figure out how to get everything done and have a few spare minutes to do so.
It could have been worse. Way worse. She had married a man she didn’t know by proxy; before ever even meeting him, they were legally bound. While she wasn’t thrilled with the fact that he had up and left the day after her arrival, leaving her with an extra child and a large house and property to look after, it could have been so much worse. He could have been a drunkard. Or abusive. Or just hideous in some way. She still didn’t know Ransom very well and she was still disgruntled that he left so suddenly with almost no explanation, but he didn’t seem to be any of those things. And he had made provision for them. There was a hired hand to take care of the outside things. There was a bank account she was afraid to access, but knowing it was there was a comfort. There was a large, sturdy home that would shelter them. They were safe from Uncle Jason.
She was Mrs. Hannah Delaney. Jason would never find her. She wondered if there was any sort of registration needed for the school. Should she register the children with the name Delaney? A part of her balked at that. She did not want to erase her parents. She didn’t want the children to forget the lovely people who had died so tragically. But it would be a protection for them to use Ransom’s name. In order to get them to cooperate with an idea like that, though, she would have to explain everything about their Uncle Jason. Her stomach turned over at that thought. She would have to tell them eventually anyway. She couldn’t believe they hadn’t yet asked more questions about why they had left Boston.
Hannah sighed. Venting her frustrations on the laundry had one advantage, at least. The task was almost done. Her arms felt like they were on fire and her shoulders ached, but all
the dirty laundry was now clean and almost all of it was suds free. Her smile felt weak, but she was exultant.
Chapter Nine
Ransom read through Hannah’s latest letter one more time. He was going to wear it out at the rate he was going. It was strange how much he was relying on her missives. Strange because he had never really received much mail in the past and certainly hadn’t looked forward to it like a child on Christmas day. As it was, he had to prevent himself from going to the post office on a daily basis. It certainly wasn’t a productive state. If he enjoyed hearing from her so much, he really ought to concentrate on the matter at hand, finish up his work in Oregon, and get himself back home to Nebraska.
He shoved the paper back into his pocket and stared at the hole in the rock that he was debating about crawling back into. Mining was quickly losing its appeal. With each letter he received from his wife, the less he wanted to be here in Oregon. But if he wanted to keep his wife in a comfortable position, he needed to get as much mining done as he could before the deep cold of winter set in and made it nearly impossible. Once it got cold enough, even if he didn’t have everything in place to hire the work out, he would be able to leave without fear of looters or squatters. Then he could go home for the winter and return in the spring. But in the meantime, he wanted to get as much of it done as possible. And really, it was ridiculous that he was feeling such a pull toward a young woman he had barely met.
Yes, her letters were witty and he admired her zeal for the tasks she threw herself into. Like this last letter where she explained how very different everything was from her life in Boston.
When my parents brought my brother home, I thought they were providing me a living doll to play with. It was the very thing I had been begging for. You can imagine how disgruntled I was when they wouldn’t let me keep him at my side at every moment. And then when the little monster wouldn’t stop crying, I was forced to accept that he wasn’t the doll of my dreams. But he has since grown on me. And I’m rather fond of him despite his wayward moods. I’m hoping it’s some sort of dreadful twelve-year-old phase and will soon pass. You did mention that you went through something similar when you were his age, didn’t you?
Ransom thought back to his own childhood and early teens. He and his brother had been orphaned right about then, just like Brent was. They had been taken in by a much loved uncle, but Ransom could still remember how contrary he had felt, as though he were trying to take out his grief on everyone around him while simultaneously trying to deny that he was even feeling the least bit of sadness. He could feel for the boy. But his heart also went out to Hannah. She had her own grief to deal with and a bewildering amount of responsibility that she had never been prepared for. As she had continued to write about in her letter.
It has been a challenge to adjust to life without servants for the three of us. It seems all Brent wants to do is eat, but I am still learning to cook so that’s a rough combination. And then there is the laundry. No one had ever told me that keeping the clothes clean would be such a monumental task. I remember blithely throwing things in the wash because I had worn it for an hour. I can assure you, such habits are no longer acceptable in the Bowman-Delaney household. Not unless the perpetrators wish to take over the task of doing the laundry. Of course, the children don’t care overly much about their things. And I don’t want them to grow accustomed to filth, so I find myself walking a fine line between keeping them clean but keeping the growing laundry pile to a reasonable height.
Ransom smiled. He could just hear her sarcastic tone as she wrote that, as though she were mocking herself. He liked that about her. She seemed quite sufficiently comfortable in her own skin so as to be willing to make light of herself and her possible failings. He was swamped with a wave of guilt. He shouldn’t have left her to flounder so thoroughly on her own. Not that he had any desire to take on the task of laundry. But he hadn’t fully realized just how privileged her background had been. It wasn’t as though she had grown up helping her mother with the household tasks. She had never done any of those things herself. She had to learn and be solely responsible for them all at once. And she was being so kind as to not want to force the children into servitude along with her. Perhaps he ought to encourage her to hire someone from the village to come in and help her with some of the bigger tasks like the laundry. Then he remembered something she had written.
I’ve been sorely tempted to send home for the housekeeper or one of the maids. They had sworn to us when we were leaving that they would love nothing more than to come with us. But I’m afraid that would draw undue attention to us. I haven’t been able to ascertain if anyone in the village hires help. I have no desire to be the first one to start such a trend. And it would not keep me incognito. Uncle Jason cannot find us. I’m fairly certain Mrs. Hannah Delaney is not the type of woman who hires servants.
Ransom wondered at her wording. It was droll how she spoke of herself in the third person, as though she were figuring out who this person is. He wondered why she was hiding from her uncle. Did he not know she had married? He had so many questions. He really ought to have stuck around a little longer to know her before he had left. But Ransom rather thought he wouldn’t have left if he had, with the way he was feeling just from reading her letters.
His distracting thoughts were slowing him down. At this rate, he would have so little done before he had to leave for the winter. He berated himself as he swung his pick once more. Since he had sacrificed so much and abandoned his new family to their own devices, he really needed to make it worth the risk he had taken with his new family. Ransom tried to push all thoughts from his head except where to swing his hammer and pick, taking advantage of what little time he had.
***
Hannah stood and watched the children playing. Little Francine was trying so valiantly to keep up with Brent and Maryanne. It was good for her. The child slept like a log every single night, never causing Hannah a moment’s trouble. Which was such a relief, as Hannah wouldn’t have the first clue how to comfort her. Hannah was impressed with Brent’s growing patience with the two girls. She was relieved to note that his belligerent attitude had finally seemed to pass once they had settled here for a couple weeks. She wasn’t completely sure what to attribute it to. She thought perhaps the physical labor of working in the garden might have something to do with it as well as Scott’s conversations with him about his responsibilities as the man of the house with Ransom away.
Smiling as she watched Brent pushing Francine on the swing they had fashioned from an old length of leather they had found, Hannah allowed her mind to wander over the conversation she had overheard part of.
“Make sure you loosen up all the soil at the roots. Won’t absorb nearly enough moisture if you don’t,” Scott had pointed out while the boy had held his tongue between his teeth in concentration.
Hannah had been amazed at Brent’s prolonged interest in the garden. She had expected him to obey her edict to help with the weeding but had thought he would do so with barely concealed disgust. Much to her surprise, after the first day, he had been eager to return to the plot daily. Despite their disastrous first day when they’d pulled out more plants than weeds, her brother had taken a liking to gardening and seemed to have a knack for it. If she ever needed to find him, she could usually do so in the large garden patch. Either that or following around after Scott, hanging on his every word.
Scott was adding his lessons about being a big brother to being a gardener. “These little plants are just like your little sisters. You need to help them grow big. If you abandon them to the harsh realities, they’ll shrivel up and burn under the sun. That’s why we loosen the soil, so the water can get in there gently.”
Brent had frowned at the man. “How does that apply to the girls? I can’t go after them with a hoe.”
The man had laughed. “No, you’re quite right about that. I’d go after you with a hoe if you did.”
“So, what do you mean?”
“It�
��s your job as their big brother to watch out for them and make things easier for them. It’s obvious they think you’re the best. If you are mean to them and tell them to leave you alone, they could shrivel up like the plant that can’t get any water.”
Hannah had marveled how the man had made that connection. She had slipped away not wanting to interrupt, hoping Brent would take Scott’s words to heart, but not wanting him to think that she had anything to do with the conversation. She hadn’t even thought to seek out Scott’s help with the children.
But it was obvious the advice had struck home with Brent. Hannah smiled as her brother laughed along with Francine, who was obviously enjoying the ride as well as the attention of the big brother she was already idolizing. And Scott had been right. The little girl looked just like a flower opening her petals to the sun after a rain. She wondered what sort of a life the child had before coming to Nebraska. Hannah didn’t know if asking her about it would do more harm than good. But just like with her brother and sister, she thought all the children ought to talk about their parents even though they had died. They needed to keep them alive in their hearts.
Hannah would think about it a little bit more. She had to be steady in her own mind and heart if she were going to help the children with their grief. She wished she had someone else she could turn to for help in this. With a sigh, she returned to the house. Perhaps she would write another letter to Ransom. Somehow, putting it into words on the paper really helped her, even though the man wasn’t there to actually offer her advice. Now that time had passed, she had started receiving responses to her letters, but he was often answering questions she had asked at least a week previously. So it was far from immediate assistance.
A Bride for Ransom Page 9